Shmitten Kitten

Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Can't Cook For Shit

noreply@blogger.com (Phil) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 00:48:00 +0000

The holidays are upon us. It's the time of year when everyone in their mid-20s starts to feel domestic and cozy as the weather cools down and the Christmas commercials start airing on TV. It's also the time of year when I get invited to potlucks.

The potluck is the winter version of a cookout, except it's easy for me to fake my way through a cookout. Any jackass can throw meat on a grill and wait for it to finish cooking. I'm that jackass.

With a potluck, however, things get complicated. You're expected to bring a legit DISH with INGREDIENTS. I can't tell you the last time I bought ingredients and then used them to make a final product. If it doesn't come in a frozen box, a can, or from a menu, it's probably not mine.

Let's be honest here: years of being single and living with roommates and cooking for one has left me a culinary idiot. I hear people talking about buying organic and eating local foods and I have to laugh, because it's a miracle I'm even eating at all. Every time I open my fridge to find food, it's a little mini-celebration in my head that somehow I managed to not run out of groceries again.

So, unfortunately, that's where you come in. If I'm going to be your boyfriend, I'm sorta counting on you to save my life. It's only a matter of time before these freeze-dried processed high-sodium meals just straight-up kill me. I figure if I find a girlfriend who is a foodie, she could potentially add years to my life. At this rate, I feel like I'm probably clocking out at 65, which doesn't leave a whole lot of time. I need to make it until they at least invent flying cars.

I'm not asking for prepared meals here. This isn't the 1950s. But if we're cooking for two, and I have a co-captain of the kitchen to alert me when I accidentally mix in baking soda instead of baking powder, the whole thing is gonna go a whole lot smoother. I'm going to need a hell of a lot of training, because right now I can do scrambled eggs and that's about it.

So, if you're up for the challenge of teaching a totally inept dude how to cook for himself, then we're in business. On the other hand, if you'd be embarrassed that I have no idea how to pick out produce, am totally reckless with a kitchen knife, and consider Ritz crackers with peanut butter a legitimate meal option, then I'm afraid I'd make a bad boyfriend.

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I've Learned So Much From You"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 23:24:00 +0000

Here is a phrase our reader Keisha would like to stab in the face:

After dating a great guy for four months, I heard the first phrase I'd love to stab in the face. It started off well, things went swimmingly all summer. I showed him all of my favorite places in the city since he's from out of state. I wowed him with my impressive knowledge of cheap Thai restaurants and encyclopedic memory of random facts about my hometown. He tried foods he'd never seen before at restaurants he'd never heard of. He seemed to be genuinely interested in me and enjoyed our outings. I thought we might have been on our way to a relationship. Oh, how I was mistaken.

The semester started and while we both were working full-time, we made it a priority to see each other. We even spent our birthdays, which just happen to be on consecutive days, together. I figured if we were exchanging gifts and googly eyes for this long, I might have made some progress. Then he started pulling a Scottie Pippen-grade fade away on me. I went from hearing from him through text and phone calls at least once daily to once every few days. We started seeing each other less and I started to feel like had I lost him and should probably just give it up.

Instead, I ignored all my instincts and made one last ditch effort to see him. Needless to say, he shot me down. Two days later he follows up with a phone call telling me how his schedule with work and class has been difficult and he just couldn't give me the time I deserved. I maturely told him that I had taken the hint. Then came the phrase that I have grown to hate and imagine murdering to the tune of Michael Myers-esque theme music: "I've learned so much from you."

Really?? You learned so much from me? Well I didn't realize that all of my hard work to get you to enjoy my city (and fall head over heels for me) resulted in being reduced to your Discovery Channel tour guide. He wasted my time and I wasted my effort. And let me tell you this, I'd better not catch him at any one of my favorite spots with another girl. I learned something from him, too: guys suck.

"I've learned so much from you," I want to stab you in the face.

Holy shit! That Scottie Pippen reference was insane! Did I tell you that I met him at the mall in eighth grade? I got his autograph on the back of a Sbarro's paper plate. Growing up in Chicago, I was a huge Bulls fan. Ahhh, the Bulls. Such a great team, such tall guys.

Where was I? Oh yeah, this dude in your letter. What a creep! The worst for me is when I introduce a guy to something radical like a British sitcom or my favorite Mexican joint and then he enjoys all the cool things I exposed him too with his new girlfriend. I blow a gasket as I read her stupid blog posts about how much she loves The Mighty Boosh now and how she's so pumped that she has such a cool boyfriend with such awesome taste. My inner Biff is all, "Hey, McFly! Anybody home, McFly? I'm the one that got him into that show, so you should be thanking ME for having such awesome taste!" Awww, fuck it.

Any phrases you guys wanna stab in the face? Let us know at hi@shmittenkitten.com and take your best shot.

Bonerkiller: Appointment TV Watchers

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 04:39:00 +0000

"Awww, I'd love to see you on Wednesday night but Lost is on then. Can we switch our date to Thursday?" I'd attribute the quote to the guy who said this but I forgot his name because I erased his number from my phone many, many moons ago.

If a guy postpones a date with me because his favorite TV show is on, well, then, I don't even know what to tell him. Not only did he admit that a TV show determined his social schedule, but he's also told me that interacting with a real, live woman with boobs comes secondary to the warm glow of his beloved boob tube. With the availability of shows online, it takes, like, zero effort to watch his precious TV show on the computer at any time. He really had to watch it the exact minute it airs? Did he bet money on the outcome or something?

I guess I should commend his honesty, although I would've preferred if he had just lied to me. He should've said that he had to have dinner with his parents or that he had to grab drinks for his roommate's girlfriend's birthday. Hell, he could even tell me that he has a boil on his ball that needed urgent medical attention; that would make me feel better than being one-upped by a TV show.

He doesn't even have to lie; he could just finesse the truth and say, "Hey, I'm not feeling well. Can we scoot our date 'til tomorrow." Bam! Not only is he off the hook, but he has a dash of sympathy too. That's a win/win. But, he didn't do that. He'd rather me lose my respect for him than miss his show. I see.

Ten bucks says that he'll act shocked when I'm unwilling to reschedule our magical date. Um, he basically just told me that he'd rather flop around on his couch in his Umbros than see the twinkle gleamimg off my smile and the sunshine beaming off my hair. Lame!

[Confession: I was this intense about watching Dawson's Creek in college. I also never got any action in college. Coincidence? You be the judge.]

Pics and Vids: I Have To Think That The Alliance Is Going To Frown On This

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 18:35:00 +0000

I'm gonna toss some math at you:

Red spandex + polyphonic ringtones + floppy moobs + living in your mom's basement + sending away for a magic kit in the mail + American flag = the best three and a half minutes I've spent today.

Here we are now, Magician Devlin, entertain us.

I wonder if he'd make a special appearance at our dance party on Sat., Nov. 14th at National Mechanics? I'd pay him up to $50 to do it!

Telling Him What He Wants To Hear: This Giant Flat Screen Television Is Telling Me That You've Made It In Life

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:55:00 +0000

Wow. This is a huge television. I mean, it takes up an entire wall of your house. It has crystal clear resolution, it has booming sound; it's just gorgeous. But just between us, when I look around the rest of your South Philly hovel, it is painfully obvious that you live in a shack. I'm trying not to look down because your carpet has a multitude of mysterious stains and burn holes in it. (Mental note: don't EVER walk barefoot on here unless I want a gnarly mixture of cat hair, Cap'n Crunch, and Doritos crumbs all over my toesie-woesies.)

I'm not gonna look behind me because your kitchen has a lone 45 watt light bulb flickering on and off like we're in a third world gas station bathroom. And, I definitely won't go upstairs to your room where there's a sleeping bag in place of a bed and a pungent smell that can only be described as fermented sock.

But, this huge flat screen television bolted to your wall, it tells me that I shouldn't be so quick to judge. You have a big TV! You are probably Grey Poupon's target audience now. If I ignore every other thing besides what is in my direct line of vision, it is obvious that you've made it in life.

Tip Our Hats: Guys Who Like Dinosaurs

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:18:00 +0000

Seeing as we have roughly the same interests as a sixth grade boy, it's no surprise that we love guys who get as psyched about dinosaurs as much as we do. For instance, we've watched Jurassic Park dozens of times. It still gives us goosebumps when they show the animation sequence about how they extracted the DNA from the amber. We've rented When Dinosaurs Roamed from Netflix and marveled at the CGI. We even watched King Kong in the theater just to see the amazing fight scene between Kong and a few badass T-Rexes. That movie sucked, but damn that fight scene was worth the price of admission.

And, our love for for our extinct homies extends beyond the screen. In fourth grade, we participated in a sleepover party at the local museum when they had their state-of-the-art animatronic dinosaur exhibit. Yes, we got to sleep with the dinos as they roared and growled with limited robotic motion. Well, we didn't get to sleep with them, but at least we got to sleep near them. It was radical.

We give props to Robert Bakker for refuting theories about dinosaurs being cold-blooded. That rules, bro. Sometimes we eat chicken and ruminate on the fact that they are dinosaur descendants. How weird is that? Attention men of Philadelphia: We dig it when you take us on a date to the Franklin Institute to marvel at the dinosaur bones. We also like it when you have a favorite dinosaur and you can tell us why in a reasonably detailed manner. Dino dudes, fuck yeah!

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "Cool Beans"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 04:23:00 +0000

We hate this phrase with the intensity of a thousand stink eyes and we hate guys who say it to us. We always will. You know who says "cool beans?" Drama club kids, guys who wear socks with sandals, guys who have a turtle as a pet, missionaries, Dave Matthew Band fans and hacky sack owners. Do you know what they have in common? They are all people that we actively avoid.

Last time I checked, he wasn't some chatty girl in my freshman algebra class talking my ear off about how hot Eddie Vedder was. I was confused for a second because that's a phrase that only girls in 1994 should say, not fully-grown men.

I mean, just look at those beans over there high-fiving. We hate them! They probably cropdust at the Barbary when they go out dancing and twitter about your date while you are on the date with them. They never bring any beers to a house party; they just jam on all the fancy ones that you brought without leaving any for you to enjoy. Fuck those smelly beans and fuck this stupid expression.

Bonerkiller: Moldy Oldies

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 05:34:00 +0000

After complaining for the millionth time about how the latest guy has let us down in some stupid way, we decided that we should try and date older guys. How old? Like 40ish. They'd be more stable. They could afford to take us out to nice dinners, they drive nice cars, and they have nice homes. They'd be, well, nice.

We tried to keep an open mind--which we're terrible at--and dipped our toe in an older, more mature dating pool. Hey, we've read an issue of AARP magazine. Once. On an airplane. Well, we just looked at the table of contents, but whatever.

The verdict? It freakin' suuuuucks. We hate dating old dudes. For one thing, old guys all have rough, leathery hands. It's like holding hands with the crocodile in the Lubiderm commercials. Why are they so leathery? What kind of fieldwork do they do on their free time? And, they have clunky metal watches that look they they'll catch on our hair if they--God forbid--tried to make a move.

They all are pop culture illiterate and have without a doubt never heard of our favorite band or seen our favorite movie. Asking us what "kind" of music that we liked tipped us off to that. Oh, and they all say that they hate country and rap, but they like everything else but "everything else" just means Sheryl Crow and Bob Dylan.

And, they'll take our date superseriously and wear the stupidest clothes, like khakis or baggy designer denim. It's not hot! Don't they know that a pair of black jeans and Chuck Taylors would go over roughly a million times better? They'll have no idea where to take us for a cheap brunch and we'll have, like, no friends in common. When we do take them out to our favorite bar, they'll marvel at how we know everyone there. Of course we know everyone here! You saying that is just reminding us that you don't know anyone and that bums us out because you are lame. They won't stay out later than 11:30pm on weekends and if they do, they'll start yawning like crazy every two minutes as if they were a goddamn newborn baby.

And, can we talk about how his text messages are the worst? He'll use emoticons freely with no sense of discretion. The only time we seriously considered killing ourselves is when a 40 year-old suitor texted us about how his golf game went, then the letters "ttyl" followed by a smiley face emoticon. Gag!

Hey moldy oldies, we're not interested in dating you. No free meal on the planet is worth this much hassle. After about twenty minutes into our date as we listen to you rattle on about your stock portfolio, we're gonna throw ourselves at our waiter when you leave to pee because while he may not be able to afford this meal we're sharing, we have a feeling that he'd be better company.

In the Department of Hell Yeah: We're Throwing A Shmitten Kitten Dance Party

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 16:04:00 +0000

When, the fine folks at BarCamp Philly approached us about helping out with their after-party, we didn't even hesitate to say yes. We jumped up and down like we'd just won a date with Growing Pains-era Kirk Cameron off a radio contest. It'll go down on Saturday, Nov. 14th at National Mechanics and everyone is invited. All the info is on the amazing flier below, which was designed by our own resident graphic designer (and my sister), Rachel Goldfarb.

What better way to work off your Halloween candy overload than by bopping around to '90s alternative music with us? Did we mention that it's free? 'Cause it is. Did we mention that we'll have prizes and general all-around fun-ness? 'Cause we will. Did we mention that we hope to see your beautiful faces there? Because we do!

p.s.: How rad is it that we changed the Sony logo on the walkman to say Shmitten Kitten? Nice work, Rachel!

Drawn Dudes: The Halloweener

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon K) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 14:15:00 +0000

The Halloweener is the MacGuyver of Halloween. He could pull together a crackerjack costume using only a tube of black lipstick and a bed sheet. In a pinch, he’s the guy you'd run to when it’s suddenly Oct. 31st and you have nothing to wear. He'll help you bang one out that's both comfortable and original. He’s like the Tim Gunn of Halloween; he makes it work. As for his own costume, this guy started preparing the thing months ago. He sketched blueprints for it on a drafting board in his bedroom, all architect-style. Rest assured, there were protractors, calculators and T-squares involved.

Bands like the Misfits, the Cramps, the World Inferno Friendship Society and the Murder City Devils are on permanent rotation in his iPod as he pumps himself up for the holiday. He throws the most legendary Halloween parties and he can carve a pumpkin like no one’s business. He'll whip up a batch of fake blood faster than you can say “Bloody Mary” five times in front of the mirror.

His past Halloween costumes are still talked about to this day. Old favorites include his FDR costume (complete with wheelchair), a bowl of spaghetti (complete with foam meatballs), and--my personal favorite--his Ash Catch’em costume (complete with Pokémon pals). One time he convinced all of his friends to dress up as the Goonies. He was Data and donned a working pair of slick shoes, pinchers of peril and a boingo-boxing glove tucked inside his shirt. It was amazing.

The only problem with dating this dude is that he’ll want to watch Nightmare Before Christmas every Christmas. And every Halloween. And every other damn day of the year ‘cause he freaking loves it so much. In fact, there’s a good chance he has a Jack Skellington tattoo, or possibly a half-sleeve based on the movie. I mean, we love that movie too, just not THAT much.

Here he is the Halloweener in all of his Halloweeny glory. Annnnd, because we love all of you so much, click on the Halloweener to download Shannon’s Creepy Mix or just click here. Spooky.

Track listing:

The Cure: Three Imaginary Boys

Three Mile Pilot: Horse Sweat

The xx: Crystalised

Papercuts: Future Primative

The Raveonettes: Hallucinations

Electrelane: This Deed

Mew: She Spider

Dead Man's Bones: Werewolf Heart

Alela Diane: The Rifle

The Black Heart Procession: Tangled

The Halo Benders: Big Rock Candy Mountain

Unrest: Cherry Cream On

Haha! There is no song #13 because this mix is spooooky. mwahahaha!

The Aislers Set: Bang Bang Bang

Emma Pollock: Fortune

Jay Reatard: Hammer I Miss You

Tip Our Hats: Boys Who Fix Computers

noreply@blogger.com (Fritsky) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:15:00 +0000

Before we started dating, my last boyfriend had an unconventional way of trying to ease his way into my good graces: He attempted to fix my computer. I invited him to my apartment several times under the impression that he was trying to rid my dumpy Dell of its several persistent viruses. His technical efforts were in vain as the machine ultimately went kaput, but they did get him the girl (i.e. me).

So maybe that’s why I found myself swooning over the a boy behind the Geek Squad counter at Best Buy a few weeks ago. He might not have turned my head had I passed him on the street, but I cocked my eyebrow watching his confidence swell as he talked shop about video cards and driver updates to a customer. Without missing a beat, he nimbly tapped the keyboard to unfreeze another customer's laptop. I found myself staring at him. Hard.

Geek squaders, genius bar jockeys, whatever: A man who fixes--or at least tries to fix--a computer lets us know that he’s a problem solver who can focus his attention on something for more than five minutes. He's like a car mechanic sans the sleaze and exorbitant fees and he’s not afraid to get down and dirty to fix whatever’s wrong. Boys who fix my computer, you can scold me for not having enough RAM in my laptop any day of the week. Roll up those sleeves, furrow that brow, upgrade my browser and download my heart.

Quick Rant: Date Downgraders

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 15:56:00 +0000

Don't get me wrong: I'm thrilled when any guy wants to hang out with me in public. I'm even more thrilled when he agrees to classify it as a date. I'm downright ecstatic when he makes a point of saying how he's going to take me to a great restaurant and then for fancy cocktails. Yay for me.

However, I am not thrilled when he downgrades our date in record time. What initially started as a firm offer to grab dinner and drinks has tumbled into some loose-goose grab at makeshift plans. What happened? It's like watching the evolutionary chart in rewind; our date transformed from a civilized, modern day human to a slimy, pre-historic ameoba in break-neck speed. Why do guys do this?

Once, a guy suggested we grab dinner and a movie for our first date. "Aww! How wholesome," I thought. "Maybe we could split a vanilla milkshake and act like a Normal Rockwell painting." However, on the day of the date, he revised the plan and asked me to go with him to the Foo Fighters concert at the Waterfront in Camden. Apparently, he snapped up backstage passes through his work and wanted to take me. I didn't care for the band, but the idea of grabbing free beers in a backstage environment appealed to me. (Little known fact: backstages passes are like my catnip.) And, the novelty of the experience won me over. I agreed. About an hour later, he texted me saying that he was unable to secure a plus one afterall, so would I "be cool" with picking him up after the concert and driving him back to the city where we could grab a drink together.

To re-iterate, what started as an offer to buy me dinner and drinks had deteriorated into a request for me to drive by myself to Camden, NJ and pick him up from a goddamn Foo Fighters concert. What, am I a taxi service now? Am I his mom in a mini-van? Why on earth would I agree to do this as our first date? What the hell?

This type of date downgrade typically happens to me about once a year. It's like a teeth cleaning but even more unpleasant. Hey, date downgraders, drop dead.

Surprisingly Not a Bonerkiller: Jazz Hounds

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 15:15:00 +0000

Saying you listen to jazz is a shorthand way to say that you are cultured, like eating sushi with chopsticks or listening to NPR in your car. Always looking to convert non-listeners, they are quick to burn me cds of their favorite artists like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Charles Mingus. In fact, I have a stack of them in my closet collecting dust right now. Thanks, fellas.

Essentially, they are harmless and awkward folk. They own a tea kettle, they wear turtlenecks (when weather appropriate), and they are pretentious. Total wallflowers, they have bookshelves filled with actual books. It's not that bad.

Incidentally, jazz hounds have the best pick-up lines. One of the first pick-up lines used on me was when a bespectacled young film major asked if I'd ever heard Thelonious Monk. When I told him that I hadn't, he slyly suggested that we go up to his room and listen to him together. Smooth move, jazz hound!

Apart from that college hook-up, as a general rule jazz hounds don't like me. I prefer music with hooks and harmonies, which they think is lame. And, I'm way too spontaneous for them which is ironic because the very thing they profess to love about jazz is the lack of boundaries. In reality, they usually go for bookish, mousy women who have one crazy thing about them, like a giant tattoo of a dragon on their thigh or a body piercing in an uncomfortable place. Yawn.

So, why are they not a total bonerkiller? It's kinda charming the way they prattle on about their favorite music genre. And, they'll take you to Ortlieb's for your third date, which is a nice change of pace from the usual watering holes we frequent. Sure, jazz hounds, we'll take ya. Well, at least until we get sick of your shtick.

Bonerkiller: Gelled, Stiff, Spiky Bangs

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 03:35:00 +0000

Oh, spiky bangs, how I loathe you. When I see them on a guy, I immediately picture him in his mirror applying product to the front of his head, sculpting his bangs to get them all crispy and pointy like that. It's goofy.

Those bangs jut off his head like they're trying to give my face a noogie. Honestly, he looks like 98 Degrees' understudy. I'll admit that I thought that this look was cool for, like, five minutes in early 2000. (If you must know, it was during the video for 'Nsync's "Bye Bye Bye.") But, that was almost ten years ago! I also thought that the Stokes were going to save rock 'n' roll with their stripped down, garage band aesthetic. I was wrong on both counts. Back to the bangs; I don't understand why guys continue to do this to themselves. See what I mean?

Stiff, spiky bangs are the worst. I would rather die than have them touch any part of my face or body. The only time this look is acceptable is if you are a six year-old with a stuffed tiger as a best friend:

Things I'm Terrible At: Judging What Qualities Are Important In A Male

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 00:18:00 +0000

If Shmitten Kitten were a made-for-television movie on the Hallmark channel, "Things I'm Terrible At: Judging What Qualities Are Important In A Male" would be the name of it. Obviously, as any reader of our site knows, that statement pretty much sums us up. Apparently, it applies to our reader Jocelyn too:

I dated this kid for a year in high school and he wore the same shirt and ripped jeans the entire time. And what shirt was it, do you ask? It was from the band Leftover Crack and it said "Shoot The Kids at School" on it. This was interchangeable every few weeks with his other Leftover Crack shirt that said, "Rock the 40 oz." Regardless, I loved him in all of his punk rock skater glory. He did have a job and a car. Really what more can you ask for in high school?

Which brings me to college where I had a brief fling with a guy from the Southern region. He was gorgeous: long curly locks, bone-thin and draped in a v-neck tee, skinny jeans, and cowboy boots. He was funny and had just gotten a job at American Apparel. He was also homeless. Like, he did not have a home. He crashed on couches--and in my bed--for weeks. I made him food when he stayed over because he was paying back credit card debt that he'd accrued to make it to Philly. I heard that even when he did find a place he was a total freeloader, surprise surprise. As you can see I have really high standards.

Wow. That's pretty funny. Punk rockers and freeloaders? That's like Crummy Guys 101. I could teach a college-level course on that. We've gone out with guys who were waaaaaay more insane. Like the guy who only hooked up with me to steal my friend's number out of my cell phone. Or, the guy who drank up all my vodka at 9am on a Tuesday when I left him at my house to go on a job interview. Or, the guy who claimed that he had to be taken to the hospital because he had alcohol poisoning but when I dropped everything and raced across town to get to him, he said that he didn't really need to go to the hospital; he just wanted to cuddle me. Actually, the last two things happened with the same guy. On the same day. *shakes head*

I'm always terrible at judging what qualities are important in a guy. That's my calling card. What are you terrible at? Write us at hi@shmittenkitten.com and let us know.

Listen Up: Alexis's Mexican Coffee Mix

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 20:42:00 +0000

Here's a perfect little mix to ease you into your favorite fall sweater. Alexis, aka the mastermind behind Popped!, has lovingly crafted this mix for you. Click on the image below to download it.

Track Listing:

1. Nico - These Days
2. Gandalf - Me about You
3. Cat Power - The Greatest
4. Milkwood - Winter Song
5. Vetiver - Hook & Ladder
6. Os Mutantes - Ando Meio Desligado
7. Kurt Vile - Freeway
8. Ramases - Balloon
9. Rilo Kiley - Silver Lining
10. Mercury Rev - In a Funny Way
11. Miike Snow - Animal (Peter Bjorn & John Remix)
12. Ramones - Judy Is A Punk

[Previously: Alexis's End of Summer Fling Mix]

Bonerkiller: You Don't Get My Pop Culture Jokes

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 14:26:00 +0000

You're killing me! My Mr. Belvedere joke zoomed past you, unnoticed. You thought I had Tourettes when I blurted, "Oh, fuck my cock," in line at Trader Joe's until I explained that it's a quote from Wet Hot American Summer. You didn't even crack a smile when I said, "You got it, dude" like a Tanner tot on Full House.

*tap tap tap* Is this thing on? My best material is going by the wayside. I feel like Baby dancing in the old people's resort trying my best to entertain the oldheads. Have you seen Dirty Dancing?

After my increasingly lame joke attempts, you looked at me and said flatly, "Oh, I don't watch television. And, I don't really like movies. Sorry." How am I supposed to find love with a guy who's never seen Wayne's World? Or Arrested Development? Or It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia? Should I give you a tutorial on pop culture? Maybe toss together a Powerpoint presentation with the top 10 most frequent shows and movies I quote from?

Yes? No? Either way. Either way is fine. (That's from Superbad.)

"Personal philosophy? Clothing optional." That does nothing for you? It's from Blades of Glory. Nothing? This is hopeless. Frown.

Tip Our Hats: Guys Who Are Good Sports About Watching My Favorite Movies

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 14:18:00 +0000

I used to kick it with this one guy who was a total scumbag. We were together only a short time; less than a month. Everyone knew he was a scumbag. Hell, even he knew he was a scumbag. How much of a scumbag? Well, he hooked up with one of my friends while we were together. He denied it until the end, even though I had proof. None of my friends could understand his appeal to me. I wouldn't even argue with them about it. "Yes, he's a jerk," I'd concede, "but he's so much fun to watch movies with."

He'd be so open-minded about everything. Most guys get fussy and argue about what we should watch. But, with this guy, I'd suggest watching one of my favorite ones that he'd never seen before, like Breaking Away or Soy Cuba, and he'd happily agree. He'd pay attention to the film. He'd ask me to put it on pause while he took a bathroom break because he didn't want to miss one scene. We'd snuggle up on my couch with his arm around me. He'd pet my hair and laugh at all the right places of the film. It was a downright pleasure watching movies with him!

Even though I had to get rid of him eventually, it still made me smile to see that he put Breaking Away as one of his favorite films on his Facebook page. If I were filling out his report card on dating me, I'd give him an "F" in everything, but as a movie-watching companion, he'd get a total "A+" Unfortunately, when you'd average his GPA out, it'd still be a failing grade.

Come As You Are: Mix Tape Speed Dating Goes Grunge

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:13:00 +0000

Holy flannel shirt! We're having our next Mix Tape Speed Dating party tomorrow at the Khyber. It's the last one in our series of four and we're goin' grunge, baby. We're gonna dress our heroin chic-iest. Maybe sip some coffee. Maybe mope around and write a nasty word on our arm in magic marker to subvert its meaning. Who knows? You'll have to come and see.

Sign in is at 6:30pm and it starts at 7pm. It's $5 if you pre-register, $8 if you don't. FAQs are here. Let's do it to it! (By "do it," we mean speed date and by "to it" we mean with other nice, good-looking citizens.) Click on the image below to register:

Oh, and it's free to just come, hang out and listen to music. No big whoop.

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "You Deserve Better"

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 21:40:00 +0000

Without a doubt, hearing this phrase makes me want to invent a time machine, go back in time to five minutes before I met the guy who is saying it to me, and beat myself up ala Tanya Harding--anything to stop myself from meeting him. As soon as I hear the word, "you," followed by the syllable, "des-" I'm out the door, deleting his number from my cell phone as I walk away quickly. I don't want to be associated with this guy for one more second. Of all the phrases we've talked about wanting to stab in the face, this one is by far the worst for me to hear. Of course I deserve the best! What am I gonna say in response? "No, I don't deserve better." There's nothing left to say once it hits my ears.

I think back to when we first met. He tried so hard to impress me, showing me off to his friends, telling his family about me. We held hands. We gazed into each others eyes. He fought for me. However, once he tells me that I "deserve better" in his breakup speech, it pretty much means that he's given up. He's thrown in the towel. He's waving the white flag. Fuck that white flag and fuck him.

Attention all future boyfriends who plan on breaking up with me: if you tell me that I deserve better, I will make like L7 and pretend that you're dead.

Drawn Dudes: The Stress Mess

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 18:12:00 +0000

This guy is the worst. He's always busy, rushing from one event to another. When you guys do have plans, he's easily distracted and unable to focus on anything you're saying because he's fielding constant text messages or scanning around the room for people he knows.

He has great style; we'll give him that. BUT, he has offensive body odor that you'll get a face full of if you go in for a hug. Seriously, he smells like a tuna hoagie left on the subway floor. He doesn't really give full hugs anyway, mostly just half hugs and a lot of nods. His stressful job keeps him on edge, but his constant coffee consumption and chain smoking doesn't seem to help either.

So, why do you even hang out with him? Well, you've known him for years and he used to be a rad punk dude that you could kick it with back in the day. Now, he's just a total stress mess. Bummer.

Drawn Dudes: The Uno-aire

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 13:45:00 +0000

This guy isn't a millionaire; not even close. He's not even a hundred-aire. Oh no. He's a straight-up uno-aire. He literally has one dollar in his checking account and even less than that in his jeans because his pockets have holes in them so the change falls out. He still uses pay phones for nebulous reasons. All of his friends are as skinny and threadbaren as he is and they have American Gladiator-esque names like Zap, Blaze, Turbo, and Viper. Because he's never had a job that's been "on the books," he's never paid taxes. Everytime you hang out, you end up having to drive him on some boring errand like taking him to the DMV to renew his expired license or dropping him off to the Chinatown bus to stumble back to his Brooklyn hovel.

He'll use your shower but slather your fancy products on the wrong body part. He'll apply your Keihl's face mask on his leg, your grapefruit sugar scrub on his hair, and your Frederick Fekkai deep conditioner on his armpits. Because he used everything incorrectly, he'll emerge from the shower greasier than before he got in. He either has freakishly long fingernails or none at all from years of nervous nail-biting. Although he's painfully skinny from malnutrition, he'll turn down your offers to make him food. If anything, he'll ask for a beer while you make him breakfast. He won't finish the breakfast, but he'll finish the beer.

He'll do some big odd job like move his friends across town and live off those earnings for an entire season. He'll blow half of his money on a parka coat from H&M and the rest will go to cheap beer and cigarettes until it runs out.

The strange thing about these kinds of guys is how neat their rooms are. They may only have three shirts, but they're always folded in the corner nicely. They're clean freaks with the few possessions they have. It's strange, but welcome behavior. Here he is in all of his skinny, poor glory:

Bonerkiller: Your Fad Diet

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 19:35:00 +0000

You can't hang out with me this week because you are on a Master Cleanse diet? What the shit? Let me get this straight. You can't:

eat real food
drink any alcohol
do any strenuous activity
do anything that could be remotely seen as fun

Apparently, the only thing you can do is flop around your apartment out of boredom and complain that you are hungry and that you have no energy. Why are you even on this thing? You look great. Just lay off beer for two weeks and you'll fit into your jeans, no problem. How long do you have to do this? Five days? So our conversations are going to revolve around the progress of this so-called "diet" for the next week or so. Eh. Count me out.

I'll be honest: it's not hot to have a guy give a fuck about fad diets. If I don't pick up when you call, it's because I'm at a Renaissance Faire trying to find a guy jammin' on a huge turkey leg like he don't give a fuck. Yes, your fad diet is making a Ren Faire dude look normal in comparison. Think about that. Don't call me; I'll call you.

From The Desk of Jon K: Boobs, A Love Letter

jkostesi@gmail.com (Jon K) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 18:55:00 +0000

[Ed. note: This was written by one of our male writers. As a woman with breasts, I got a kick out of this post because it seems that most Philly guys I meet are self-described "ass men." Ew. So, for all you girls out there who feel like your dirty pillows aren't fully appreciated, this one's for you. - Anna]

Let’s be honest here. I can take the long way around and say I love a million weird and quirky things about you, but I’d rather cut to the chase: I really enjoy boobs. Not really any particular size or type, either. I think they’re all great. Actual function aside, they’re the perfect aesthetic complement to your body. In short, I'm a fan.

And boobs, I even think you’re somehow improved by the fact that I’m not supposed to stare at you, contrary to thousands upon thousands of years of genetic conditioning. I’m going to let you in on a secret, though: I’m totally stealing glances at you when no one is paying attention. Sorry, I can’t help it. So cheers, boobs. You’re awesome.

Little Known Fact: I Will Judge You Based On How You Wear Your Backpack

noreply@blogger.com (Anna) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 16:04:00 +0000

The way a man wears his backpack can tell me a lot of information: Mainly, would I ever agree to be seen with him out in public or not. We like a simple backpack on our men, nothing too intense, bizarre, strappy, or kitchy. But, really, we are mostly concerned about how he wears the thing.

Worst case: One loosened strap over the shoulder. I don't want to date a guy who looks like a sixth grader in a hurry. What are you, a weed dealer? You know what the Hunchback from Notre Dame, Eurotrash, and Screech from Saved By The Bell have in common? They all look like you! It's hard to take a guy seriously who rocks this look. I will avoid eye contact. I will pretend I don't speak English. I will get the RCs (retard chills) and deny any friend requests he sends me from here on out.

Good case: Both straps on shoulders. Much better! Well, now he looks like a citizen with good posture. He looks like he had a good night's sleep, ate a balanced breakfast and did his homework. He probably shows up two minutes early to appointments. Yes, I would love to take a stroll around the park with you, young man. Cheerio!

Potentially best case: Both straps on shoulders along with the harness straps clicked into place. That buckle tells me that he values security. He is high-tech. He uses a laptop. He carries his phone charger around with him. He will text you back in a timely manner.

I mean, look at Patrick Stump over there. How cute is he all bundled up like that? I just want to run up to him and tighten that strap with my teeth. Is this how guys feel when they catch a glimpse of our bra strap? His backpack gear is basically a garter belt for his chest. Check yes to that.

Honorable mention: This isn't even a backpack, but a guy with a messenger bag is totally ok. If done right, it can make him look like a scrappy English professor. If done wrong, it can make him look like a 1997 music convention attendee.

Did we miss anything? Do you agree? Leave your comments, in the, uh, comments.